


Redefine

by GoldenDaydreams



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (they get better), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Battle, Bloodshed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mistaken Identity, Prince and The Pauper AU... Kinda?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25138207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: Prince Richard of Livonia is betrothed to the King of Kent while hopelessly in love with a knight of the royal guard. Indentured servant, Connor, dreams of freedom while trapped by his debt to the blacksmith. In a case of mistaken identity, both of their lives will be redefined.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 25
Kudos: 97
Collections: New ERA Discord: Reverse Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reloumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reloumi/gifts).



> Wrote this for the New Era RBB event, my wonderful partner Reloumi gave me the artwork and such a neat concept, it was a joy to work on this one <3  
> [Reloumi's art on Tumblr](https://reloumi.tumblr.com/post/623031245202391040/goldendaydreams-archive-of-our)

The clash of swords sent a thrill through Richard, even in his somber mood he couldn’t help but look down from the ramparts to the fighting below. Two knights were sparring, but Richard only had eyes for one. He slowly descended the stairs, half his attention still on the fight, on the man who’d been assigned to protect him for years. Intense eyes focussed on their target, and how Richard longed to be that target. The grip those strong hands had on his longsword, and the precision in which he wielded it left Richard so distracted he bumped into one of the passing servants. He muttered a quick apology but they were giving him a bow, and apologizing right back. 

Gavin met his eyes, but remained on task. He moved like the battle was a dance, twirled around, and tapped his opponent with the flat side of his blade. “And you’re dead. Better luck next time.” His attention shifted from his opponent to Richard. “Your Royal Highness.”

“It’s time for my lessons,” Richard said. 

The other knight departed with a small bow, leaving Richard and Gavin mostly alone in the bailey. Servants and even other knights gave the area a wide berth knowing the training exercises weren’t to be interrupted. 

The dull training swords could still cause injury if not careful. While the other knights had all refused the job when Prince Richard had come of age, Gavin held his sword, trusting in his skills that he wouldn’t hurt Richard, and trusting in Richard to not cause him injury. Occasionally, Knight Commander Allen would check in to ensure that there were no one was harmed, and perhaps fix one of their stances, accepting nothing short of perfection. 

They fell into the familiar steps, Gavin had taught him well over several years. In Richard’s youth, he’d been expected to learn fencing, the learning curve going from a one handed rapier to a two handed longsword had been difficult but worth it. 

Gavin swept in past his guard, held the blade flat against Richard’s stomach. Richard stared at the blade a moment, before his shoulder bumped against Gavin’s, he turned his head toward the knight, noting the quick breaths, sweat dripping down his face. Gavin gave his head a slight shake, and lowered the weapon, stepping away. Richard already missed the intense heat that had been rolling off of him.

“You’re distracted,” Gavin said, he circled around tapping his foot against Richard’s shin to adjust his stance. “We’ll go again, I know you can do better than that.” 

Distracted was an understatement. His infatuation with Gavin wasn’t anything new, but usually it spurned him into doing better, trying to impress the knight. However, his feelings for Gavin were the least of his worries at the moment, and the conversation with his mother had left him shaken and—

He parried, dodged, attacked when he saw an opening, but Gavin blocked. His muscles ached, a worthy distraction from the intensity of his feelings. He blocked a powerful blow that knocked him back, with his poor stance he tripped over his own two feet, fell on his back, his weapon scattering across the cobblestone. 

Dramatically tripping in front of his crush was about on course with the rest of his day, and he laid on the ground a moment, wallowing in his embarrassment. 

Gavin’s own weapon clattered against the ground as he knelt down next to Richard. “Did you hit your head?” he asked in a rush of worry, and held up two fingers. “How many?”

“Seven?” Richard replied trying to keep the smile off of his face. 

“Seve-” He glanced over his shoulder, perhaps looking for a healer. 

He tapped his finger into Gavin’s shoulder. “I’m kidding. Two fingers. I’m fine.” 

“You’re a nightmare, that’s what you are,” Gavin said without heat, one of the only people who spoke to him so freely, fearless of the repercussions of speaking to a prince in such a fashion. He stood, held out his hand, and Richard took it, allowed Gavin to help him to his feet. 

Richard picked his sword back up, but Gavin’s hand wrapped around it. “We’re done for the day.” 

Richard let go of the weapon, and watched as Gavin put both swords away. “We’ve hardly begun.”

“You’re too distracted, and I need to keep my fingers,” Gavin said. He crossed his arms, and leaned back against the sword rack. “What’s going on with you? You’re usually so focussed.” 

That was the problem. Richard was focussed, unfortunately it was on the wrong thing. He sighed. It wasn’t like everyone in the castle wouldn’t know in a matter of hours anyway.

“Fighting off the western forces for so many years has chipped away at our army, our treasury. The only thing to do is form an alliance with the country of Kent. With our forces combined we will be able to hold off the Sylvan army for good, perhaps even overtake King Elijah.” 

Gavin frowned. “Only way an alliance like that happens is—” the knight looked down at his boots. “Well, I guess congratulations are in order. Marrying a king, huh? I’ve known a few of his soldiers, y’know. They all speak highly of of their king, you’ll be safe there.” 

A cold wave of sickness rolled through him at thought of being married to a man he didn’t love, of being separated from Gavin, taken from his home, his country, his family to be a pawn in an elaborate war game. 

He bit his tongue, there was nothing to be said, no point in admitting his feelings, no point in complaining. “Can we sneak out tonight?” Richard knew better than to sneak off alone. Gavin indulged him on occasion, if he deemed things safe enough. Gavin’s face pinched like he was thinking of a way to say no. “Please,” Richard asked softly. “It might be the last time I’m able to.” 

Gavin dragged his hand down his face. “Fine. I’ll meet you at your room after dark.” 

A last taste of freedom, a final moment with his closest friend. “I’ll be waiting.” 

∙∙∙

Gavin, true to his word, showed up after dark with a soft double tap on his door. Richard took a step back, in part to allow Gavin to come in, but also because Gavin had thrust a sack into his arms. Richard already knew that it would contain some of Gavin’s clothes, Richard’s wardrobe held nothing but garments of the finest silks, bold colours on soft cotton, delicate and elaborate embroidery which no commoner could afford. 

He stepped behind the privacy screen, stripped off his attire, and pulled on Gavin’s clothes, an indulgence he wouldn’t have for much longer. The soft grey tunic was tucked into his breeches, a little short on his longer legs, but they fit well enough, and his ankles were covered once he pulled his boots on. He strapped on the belt with one of Gavin’s daggers sheathed, the weight familiar on his hip.

He stepped out. “Okay, ready.” 

Gavin stepped into his space, and Richard stopped breathing when Gavin raised his hands. He had a split second to imagine those hands framing his face before a kiss, but instead Gavin gently raised the circlet crown from his head, and set it over on a stand with a pillow to protect the gold and jewels. Gavin gave him a once over. “Now you’re ready.” 

Richard fussed with his hair to try and hide the small circular birthmark on his temple. He followed Gavin through the castle, the paths familiar, but Gavin knew the best ways to avoid the rotating patrols—of course he would—he was frequently part of them. 

A guard blocked their choice of exit. Tina stood in her chain-mail armour, frowning at the two of them as they got closer. “One of these days—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gavin said walking right past her. 

She bowed to Richard, not stopping them on their exit. “Don’t forget to be back by my shift change.” 

“We know the drill,” Gavin replied, holding the door open and poking his head outside, checking that the coast was clear before waving Richard onward. 

The two walked together, easily blending in with the commoners. It was late enough that the streets weren’t crowded, but not so late that the shops were closed. 

Beltane was fast approaching. There were shops beginning to decorate: bold coloured ribbons danced in the wind from where they were tied on posts, wreaths of flowers hung on doors, herbs were tied and hung upside down, little pots of merigolds and primrose were displayed in windowsills. It was Richard’s favourite time of the year, the chill of winter finally started to go away, but it the dry heat hadn’t taken over yet. The Beltane festivals were one of light, and joy, a celebration for all. It was hard not to get caught up in it. 

In the square, there was a large pile of wood, ready for the great bonfire that would be lit in a few days time. Further away the maypole had been set up, the ribbons tied down until the festivities. A couple of bards were sitting together, singing in turn as they strummed; appearing to be delighted as much by the audience as they were with each other. 

Richard enjoyed the music, and the dancers from a distance. He’d picked up on Gavin’s discomfort in crowds, and had no intention of making Gavin’s job of protecting him harder than it needed to be, especially when he’d risked so much to get Richard out of the castle in the first place. 

The scream sent a chill down his spine. Gavin’s hand was a hot brand on his wrist, tugging him in close, as much as Richard had daydreamed about such things this was not the context he’d had in mind. “Stay between me and a wall wherever you can.” Richard understood, as much as they didn’t want to get boxed in, it was more defensible if enemies were only coming from one side. “Stay close.” 

“I will,” Richard promised. 

People were running, the screams sounded closer. Richard kept pace with Gavin, who’d already drawn his sword, keeping it down, and out of the way of the terrified commoners running by. 

He paused when Gavin did, and followed the knight’s gaze down the street. Richard’s stomach twisted at the sight of the violence from those in dark armour with the trio of bold red triangular symbols on their chest. “Fucking Sylvs,” Gavin spat. It wasn’t the first time Levonia was being attacked by Sylvians, King Elijah had been trying to take over their lands for nearly as long as Richard had been alive. 

A child screamed, and one of those bards swung his lute like a weapon that could stand up to the warrior. Richard took half a step forward, hand on his dagger before Gavin caught him by the neck of his tunic and yanked him back. “What did I say,” Gavin snarled. “Come on.” 

“But Gav-”

The knight was having none of it, physically directing him, shoving him along, away from the danger, only to realize there were more of the Sylvians in their path. Gavin shoved him down a narrow alleyway, pausing to shove him against the wall only to shimmy past so he would be able to get out the other side first. 

“We could have helped them,” Richard hissed as the sound of clashing blades, and cries echoed in the night. 

“Shut up,” Gavin snapped, pushing him against the wall, keeping his hand on Richard’s chest as he peeked out into the street, his face all stern hard lines that reminded Richard of the Knight Commander. “Our way is blocked. Stay here.” 

_I can help,_ he wanted to say, but the words were stuck on his tongue, and he knew they wouldn’t be accepted. There was a divide between them, a chasm that could not be crossed. He was Prince Richard of Livonia, and Gavin was an knight, an esteemed and trusted one, but a knight none the less. 

Gavin stepped out, the torch light illuminating his face for one perfect moment before he was out of view. Richard couldn’t help it, he inched closer to the street, peeking out to spot Gavin. He likely wasn’t smaller than the three Sylvian fighters, but the fact that he wasn’t in armour and they were made him appear so. 

Knowing Gavin had incredible fighting skills didn’t lessen Richard’s anxiety. The Sylvians were in full armour, and could afford to take certain hits, while Gavin was protected by nothing more than a layer of soft cloth, and leather trousers. 

Gavin had to keep backing up to avoid blows, and three-on-one wasn’t a fair fight. Light on his feet, Gavin side-stepped, parried and countered a blow shoving one of the men back far enough to give him some space to work again, he cut down the next soldier, and spun with his blade the third man barely blocking. 

The one that had been knocked back had regained his footing, and Gavin’s side was left wide open. 

“No!” He’d stepped out into the street before he could think twice about it. 

Blood stained Gavin’s tunic red. Dagger in hand, Richard wished he’d also been able to bring a sword with him. The knights were distracted by the way Gavin still fought hard, ignoring his wounded side, allowing for Richard to sneak up behind the man, and drag his dagger along the enemy’s throat. 

Gavin with only one soldier left to focus on, put all his strength into a final few blows getting under the warrior’s guard, and plunging the sword through a weak point in the armour. 

They were surrounded by bodies. Ahead Richard saw familiar armour, the interlocking four blue rings signifying the army of Livonia, he had faith their army would take back the city. 

A crash caught his attention. Gavin was leaning heavily on a windowsill, a ceramic pot shattered on the ground, marigolds spilling out on the dirt. The blood on his shirt, bright, and terrifying. “You’re wounded.” 

“We need to-to get you back,” Gavin said through gritted teeth, his hand shook as it pressed against the wound, and immediately blood spilled over his fingers running in rivulets over his skin. 

The castle was still too far away, if they came across any other Sylvians they might not make it at all. Richard was a fair fighter, but he didn’t have any armour, and he would need to protect Gavin who was in desperate need of a healer. 

“The apothecary is nearby,” Richard said, placing his hand over Gavin’s, horrified by the heat of the liquid staining his skin. 

“The castle-”

“Too far,” Richard said. “Neither of us will make it.” 

“Rich-ah! Fuck!” Richard had pulled Gavin’s arm over his shoulder so he’d be easier to drag along, but Gavin had pitched forward a bit in pain, and Richard had to adjust his grip. “We-we can find some of our own—”

Allen. Tina. The Livonian army was busy enough trying to take back the city. And they would prioritize Richard, they’d defend him on the way back to the castle, but Gavin would be a liability. As much as they wouldn’t want to leave him behind, protecting the crowned Prince would be the priority. Richard couldn’t let that happen. 

“Shut up,” Richard said, dragging Gavin along, trying his best to ignore the slain bodies. 

The wreath on the apothecary’s door was beautiful, painstakingly created. A splash of blood stained it, a drop falling from one of the petals. Richard tried the door, and found it locked. He beat his fist against the door, tightening his slipping hold on Gavin. “Open the door, please! My friend is wounded!” He caught sight of a shadow, someone peeking through the window. 

“Simon, open the fucking door,” Gavin snarled. 

He could hear something moving on the other side, and then the door opened, a young man with blue eyes wide with fear, he ushered them inside, shut the door and shoved the plank of wood back into place, effectively locking the door. 

In the small house it was quieter, but Richard knew there was still a battle going on outside the walls. 

“Over here,” Simon said, directing Richard through a doorway, holding strings of herbs, dried lemon and orange slices, crystals, and small shards of metal out of the way as they pass and let them fall, the crystals and metal tinging off of one another as they settled. 

The bed was clean until the moment they laid Gavin upon it. Simon said nothing as his quick fingers got to work, Richard took a step back, heart pounding to the rhythm of the blades clashing outside. 

∙∙∙

Connor had hidden between a couple of barrels while the Sylvians trashed the blacksmith’s forge. Equipment scattered upon the floor, weapons racks knocked over. Not much actual damage could be done, and most things were too cumbersome to steal. The coin had been found though. Knowing that trying to fight them would mean certain death, Connor stayed put. 

Zlatko would be furious that his coin had been stolen, but Connor figured he might just survive the rage. Zlatko would put the coin on top of Connor’s debt, and Connor couldn’t bring himself to care. What were the odds he could actually work his way out of servitude? Even if he did, he would be without a copper to his name, where would he go? What would he do? 

Singing could be nothing more than a fanciful pastime, any skills with the harp were likely lost around the same time as his mother’s passing. Daydreaming of travelling by foot from town to town, exploring, and delighting in the freedom of song, and dance was just that _a daydream_. That’s all it could be. 

The men left without discovering Connor, and he let out the breath he’d been holding. His legs had cramped while in the uncomfortable position, and he leaned his full weight on a barrel as he stood up. The sensation of pins and needles made him hiss out a breath. 

The clash of metal had him ducking back into cover. Curled in the dark he listened to the snarl of one of Livonia’s battle hounds, and the heavy thump of a body falling followed. Time passed as noises got further away. He waited for a minute before daring to step out once again. The street looked mostly empty—with the exception of the bodies. Faces he recognized, those who’d stolen the coin from the forge. 

If he got the money back, he could set the forge back to rights, and Zlatko never had to know what happened inside of his shop. 

He could see the black pouch with the silver cord on the ground near one of the bodies. He would be quick. He would grab it, return it, and keep at least that debt off of his head. A cursory look around didn’t tell him much, it was dark, minimal torch light, and the bodies were near a crossroad. There could be others. 

Worth the risk. 

He ran out, his legs shaking, but he couldn’t tell if it was from fear, or because he’d been curled up in hiding for so long. Either way, he collapsed to his knees rather than gracefully bending down, he grabbed the small pouch, and tucked it into the pocket sewn into his shirt.

By the time he heard the fast approaching footsteps, it was too late to duck for cover. He looked up only marginally relieved to see the interlocking blue rings on the man’s armour. The soldier grabbed him by the arm, and lifted him to his feet. Eyes gave him a cursory look over. “Are you injured, My Lord?” 

Connor stared, his mouth opening, and shutting with no sound coming out. 

“Damn it,” the man cursed, a few others of the royal guard near him, certainly the man was of high rank, and commanded respect. He looked around. “Where is Gavin?” 

Again, Connor had no words. He didn’t know a Gavin, and was afraid to admit it. 

“We don’t have time for this,” another knight said. “We must get the prince back to the castle.”

 _I’m not the prince!_ Connor wanted to say, but the words were trapped under a lead tongue. 

He was corralled, past bodies both of commoners, and soldiers in armour declaring them of Sylvan or Livonia. There were people huddled together crying, mourning those lost, others calling out names into the night desperate to find their loved ones. 

Numb, he found himself inside the walls of the castles, none of the royal guard, nor soldiers stopped him, none of them even gave him a second glance. 

Once inside the gates, one of the guards turned away, and the one who’d originally grabbed him fell into step beside him rather than leading. “The Queen was not pleased to note your absence tonight.” 

He passed more of the royal guard in their beautifully crafted armour, their swords gleaming, those who carried shields had ones that were beautifully crafted, nothing worn down, they alluded power in just their stance. 

He knew of the Queen, of course he did. The powerful Queen Amanda had been in power for as long as Connor had been alive; a strategist, who’d managed to keep the small country tucked between Sylvan and Kent mostly safe despite the dwindling army, and the immense power of the Sylvan army determined to overtake them. 

_You have me mistaken,_ he wanted to say, _I’m not who you think._

A woman stepped out of the room at the end of the hall, her gown a stunning white, he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so clean in his life. Her steps were too fast for decorum, her hair pulled back in a style surely done by her lady-in-waiting, there were tear tracks glistening on her dark skin. 

“Oh, Richard,” she pulled him in, hugged him close, her hand around the back of his head, guiding him to rest it upon her shoulder, and he melted into the embrace. How long had it been since he’d been touched with kindness rather than a sharp slap on the back of the head, _or worse._ He thought of how dirty he was, soot and sweat, and pulled back, grimacing when he saw the state of her dress. She still didn’t let him go, her hands instead trailing down his arms stopping to take hold of his hands while she looked him over. “What happened to you?” 

“I-” Connor didn’t know how to explain that this was all just mistaken identity. Besides, he was safe inside the castle walls, away from the battle, safe from Zlatko’s heavy hands. It was selfish to keep his mouth shut, the real Prince must be outside of the castle walls—

“Kara!” 

“My Lady,” the woman replied, dressed more plainly, but still a woman of high standing. Surely the Queen’s Lady-In-Waiting. 

“Have a bath filled, we need to get him cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Kara gave a little curtsy before she hurried off. 

“You’re not injured, are you?” Amanda asked him, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. He wanted to pull back, surely she’d feel the small burn marks or calluses on his hands. How would he explain those?

He managed to shake his head. 

“Good.” She turned to the knight who’d brought him in. “Thank you.” 

He gave a polite bow, and left them. 

She let out a sigh. “It’s a good thing Knight Commander Allen found you. Who knows what could have happened. This—this exact scenario is why I tell you to stay in the castle walls. You’re far too precious to be captured, especially by that fiend Kamski. Come.” 

She turned and he followed, allowed himself to be led to the bath. Servants still filling it with steaming hot water. So distracted by the sight, he didn’t hear Kara until she was right behind them. “My Lady, your advisors are convening.” 

Amanda squeezed her hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Bathe.” 

He nodded, and stepped a little further into the room. He heard Amanda speak once again even though it was quiet enough that he didn’t think he was supposed to overhear. “Make sure he doesn’t sneak off again. And ensure he has something to eat.” 

“Yes, My Lady,” both Kara and the knight in the room replied. 

Once all the servants were done filling the steaming bath, he was left alone, but knew at least one knight stood outside. 

The water had the slightest scent of roses. He dipped his fingers into the water, it was hot but not scalding. He stripped of his clothes, leaving them in a dirty pile. He grimaced as that first moment of heat was almost painful, but he sunk into it. The heat did wonders for his aching muscles. He reached for the bar of soap, and got to work scrubbing of the layers or dirt from his flesh. 

He didn’t lounge in the bath, even though he wanted to. The fear of being found an impostor was too high. Once he managed to get as clean as he thought he could, he stepped out, dried himself off and walked over to the clothing that had been left out for him. 

The single ensemble must cost more than his entire debt to Zlatko. Not including the circlet resting upon the pillow, sapphires glistening in the firelight. 

He dressed, pleased that the clothing fit him perfectly. While most of the outfit was quite plain, the deep blue jacket inlaid with golden stitching was befitting to the prince. 

The door opened, and he jumped. 

“My apologies, My Lord, I did not mean to startle you,” Kara said. She walked in. “You certainly have had a stressful night. Let’s get you some food, hmm? Then some rest.” 

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and forced himself to nod. He went to leave, but paused when she tsked. She stepped past him, grabbed the circlet with great care, and brought it to him. He bowed his head a little to make up for their height difference, and allowed her to rest it upon his head. It weight more than he expected, but fit perfectly. 

She started to walk, and he trailed behind her. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to know the Sylvians have been pushed back out of the city, what few ran off anyway, and our forces will hunt them all the way to their boarders, that is, if they make it that far.” Kara paused to curtsy to someone but continued walking fast for someone so small. “Most of them were herded into dead ends where our forces could pick them off. Sylvan has taken a hit tonight.” 

He tried to memorize where they went, hoping not to be sent back on his own for he would surely get lost. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” Kara noted, and when she looked up at him, he thought the rouse was up. “It must have been very traumatizing. You’ve never been in battle before. Fear not, My Lord, you’re safe in these walls.”

They entered a large dining hall, and she guided him to the ornate chair slightly smaller than the imposing Queen’s throne. Another servant brought him a full plate: a quarter of a chicken, a warm bread roll, fresh vegetables. Salivating, he nearly grabbed it with his hands until he saw the utensils. Despite the ravenous pit in his stomach he ate slow. Expecting water, the wine on his tongue surprised him, and he tried to hide the wince. 

The meat fell off the bone, and was so delicious that Connnor could have cried. If they discovered his dishonesty and he was killed for it, at least he’d had the most delicious last meal he could have ever asked for. Even though his stomach ached, he still stuffed the last bit of bread into his mouth. 

The servant seemed to be waiting for his plate to be cleared, and rushed over the moment he finished. “Would you like more, My Lord?” 

_More._ The biggest, most incredible meal of his life, and they would give him more. If he thought he wouldn’t be sick if he had another bite, he would accept. 

“No.” He then worried about his manners and tacked on, “Thank you. This—this was wonderful.” 

The servant bowed, took his plate, and bowed again before scurrying off. 

“I’m sure My Lady wishes to see you before you retire for the evening,” Kara said. He’d half forgotten she was there with him, she seemed to blend into the wall only to appear whenever she was needed. “We shouldn’t keep her waiting.” 

Connor followed Kara into the castle halls. He didn’t have time to look at the glorious paintings, and tapestries upon the wall, not if he wanted to keep up with her. Another right, a left, three stairs—

“—oking for more injured,” the voice stern and becoming familiar. “We have sent word to healers in nearby towns.” 

Through the open door, Connor spotted Amanda, her eyes looking him over. “You’re looking much better.” 

“I feel better.” Connor fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve. He wasn’t sure what a prince was to do in such a situation. 

Amanda didn’t look like she walked so much as it seemed that she floated upon air, her dress flowing like water. “You should get some rest. A very important day tomorrow, while that bastard Kamski might have thought he would ruin our plans, he will find just how determined Livonia is. Once we’re backed by Kent, we will destroy him.” 

Connor understood only half of what was going on, but found himself once again being hugged by Amanda, then a kiss on each cheek. “Good night.” 

“Good night,” he whispered back. 

He followed Kara once more as she escorted him to a lavished bedroom. “Do you require anything else this evening, My Lord?” 

“No… thank you.” 

Kara smiled softly. “Sleep well.” She offered a curtsy, and shut the door behind herself. 

Connor expected the nerves, the way his hand shook just a little, he listened for every noise, afraid to be found out, and yet within the castle walls was the safest he had ever felt. The Queen was kind, and loving. The Knight Commander had protected him, and saw him to the castle safe. Kara was dutiful, and sweet. The true prince was a very lucky man. 

Or a not so lucky man if he’d been out in the city during the raid. Perhaps the crowned prince was dead. The thought saddened him, a visual all to clear as he knew he could clearly pass as the Prince himself, and it was all too easy to imagine his own demise. 

∙∙∙

Servants he didn’t know the names of woke him from his slumber, opening drapes, setting out his clothes for the day. One stated that the Queen was waiting on him in the dining hall, and then they both took their leave. 

Connor didn’t want to abandon the comfort of the bed. If he’d ever had such a restful, or comfortable night of sleep, he couldn’t recall it. The blankets brushed against his chin, and he delighted in how soft they were. No itchy wool with holes in it for the prince.

Not wanting to rouse suspicion, and wishing for a hot meal, he slipped out of bed, and dressed in the clothing left out by the servants. With a great deal of nerves, he picked up the circlet crown and put it on. The reflection showed a man Connor barely recognized. Regal in black with Livonian blue details. He squared his shoulders, and straightened to his full height. 

How long could this rouse go on? Was Zlatko looking for him? The coin he’d pocketed sat in the bedside drawer. Would Zlatko assume that Connor just took the money, and ran during the skirmish? He would have to consider his course of action later. He didn’t think it wise to keep the Queen waiting. 

In the hall he tried to recall the layout of the castle he’d barely seen the night before. He caught brief bits of conversation, the servants were certainly abuzz. 

“He’s early,” one said. 

“Did you get a look at him?” another asked. 

“He’s quite handsome!” the first tittered. 

The group moved out of ear-shot, and Connor started to walk in the opposite direction, only to pause when the hall split in two directions. He was almost certain that he had seen the blue and grey tapestry the night before, and turned left. 

He caught the scent of something cooking, turned toward it, and walked directly into what might as well have been a brick wall. He stumbled back, but was caught up in the strong arms which wrapped around his waist, and pulled him in close. Connor blinked, surprised as he stared up at the man, grey hair hung lose around his shoulders, there was amusement in the way his soft smile wrinkled the corners of his grey eyes. Handsome in a way that made Connor’s heart flutter foolishly. The man kept hold of his biceps making sure he was steady before letting go completely.

“In a hurry?” the man asked.

“I-I’m hungry, I guess.” 

The man laughed while Connor took in the man’s finery, soft blue with stunning gold details, the crown upon his head made him not just some noble, but a king. Certainly not that of Sylvan, which left the King of Kent, a name on the tip of his tongue, but Connor couldn’t recall the king’s name, and his cheeks warmed with humiliation. 

Connor took a step back and performed a clumsy bow, and wondered if it would come off as insulting rather than unpracticed. 

The King still wore a smile, and bowed with far more grace and dignity than Connor had. “Your mother is waiting for you,” he said, gesturing to the door. “I’ll be seeing you soon.” 

Connor watched him leave flanked by a two knights he hadn’t even noticed until they were walking away. He released a shaky breath, and flinched when the door opened before he reached it, one of the knights stepped out, gave him a polite nod, and continued. Connor went inside. 

Queen Amanda looked regal at the head table, her gown a work of art, her crown a sign of her power. Standing behind her chair to her right was her lady-in-waiting, Kara, to the left, Knight Commander Allen. In front of her, standing in the grand room, empty but for some servants preparing cutlery for th next meal was a man in Kent’s colours—not armour, an advisor? 

Amanda looked over her shoulder, and beckoned him with one finger. “Sit with me, Richard.” 

The name that wasn’t his sent a shiver down his spine. _I’m not him. I’m not your son. I’m not the boy you took under your wing when his mother died. I’m sorry, I’m not him. I’m not him. I’m not—_

“Your Royal Highness, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The man bowed deeply, with the utmost respect. “I am Joshua of Kent, advisor to King Henry of Kent.” 

His breath caught in his throat. How was he to respond? What was the protocol in place for a man of his—of Richards—position to speak to an advisor of another court? He leaned into politeness, hoped it was the right move. “A pleasure to meet you.” 

Joshua smiled, and Amanda laid her hand on his wrist. “Joshua and I are going over plans for your wedding—”

Whatever was said after was drowned out by the static in his ears. Wedding. A wedding. _Plans for your wedding._

“It will strengthen both of our countries. While Livonia shares a border with Sylvan, you haven’t been the only one to have trouble with their raids,” Joshua said, but Connor’s mind still fretted over the impending wedding to Richard’s betrothed. “United in marriage—”

“Richard, you’re shaking,” Amanda’s voice became sharp and concerned, her hand still on his wrist. “Are you unwell?” 

“I-I suppose it’s just all the excitement from last night,” Connor said. Not entirely a lie, the events had been rather traumatic. The last thing he expected from the firm but fair ruler was her fingers gently pushing some of his hair back and then she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. “Hmm, I don’t think you’re running a fever.” She lowered her hand. “Commander, escort him back to his room.” 

“Of course, My Queen.” Knight Commander Allen looked to one of the other knights, who without words knew to fill in the Commander’s spot over the Queen’s shoulder, ready to defend. 

The Commander was quiet for most of the walk, but paused in an empty portion of hallway. Connor’s palms started to sweat. Surely, this man had figured it out, would he blackmail Connor with the facts? Send him back to Zlatko? Torture him to find the location of the true prince? Would he—

“What happened last night?” 

Connor tried not to shake, but he felt like his knees would give out. “You were there—”

“I found you. Alone.” 

“Ah, yes.” 

“You and Gavin have always been joined at the hip.” 

Gavin? He’d never met a man with that name in his life. He wondered who the man was to Prince Richard. An advisor? A servant? A stable boy? 

“Gavin… he missed roll call. Sometimes it takes a while to find everyone after a battle, sometimes people go missing entirely, or are too hard to identify.” 

Connor grimaced. 

The Commander frowned. “Until he’s found, Tina will be taking over his position. She will be your guard. She will start with your sword training tomorrow morning.” 

“Okay,” Connor whispered. 

“Were you with Gavin last night?” The Commander asked, standing tall. Despite the fact that they were the same height, something about the imposing man made Connor feel small. “If you two were separated—”

“I didn’t see him,” Connor answered, horribly honest. He didn’t see him, because he wasn’t Richard, and Gavin wasn’t his knight. 

A flash of something on the Commander’s face, before he was once more the hardened soldier leading Connor back to his room. 

“Get some rest, My Lord.” The Commander gave a bow, and walked off. 

Connor slipped into the room, and leaned back against the door, slipping down to sit on the floor. 

How was he to get out of this mess?


	2. Chapter 2

Richard felt guilty for the smile on his face. Gavin showed signs of waking, the fever broke, and Simon said that Gavin was officially on the mend. Richard could feel the vice on his heart loosening. Of course, the other side of that was that his mother must be worried sick. He’d seen some of the royal guard through the windows, likely in search of him. 

If he were found, they’d bring him back to the castle. He would be married off in a matter of days to the King of Kent, swept away to a whole new country. 

He’d be taken from Gavin. 

So, just this once, he’d be selfish. It wouldn’t change anything, not in the long run. He’d just given pause to everything, just a few days. 

Gavin shifted, grimacing, his hand covering the bandage, pure white, and not the bloodied rags they’d started out with. 

“Gavin,” Richard leaned forward on the stool, dragging it just a little bit closer to the small cot. Their hands were clasped together, and Richard tightened his grip. “That’s it, wake up, come back to me.” 

“Did I get stabbed?” 

“Just a little,” Simon said, coming in with a small cup of water. “It wasn’t as deep as I first feared. You’re remarkably lucky.” 

Gavin opened one eye, looked first to Richard, then blinked a few times before narrowing his gaze on the apothecary. “I fear the debt I’ll have to pay you, Si.” 

Simon rolled his eyes. “I’ll put it on your tab.” 

Richard pulled his hand away from Gavin as he stood. He pulled one of his rings off, and grabbed Simon’s free hand, placing the ring in his palm. “For payment.” 

“Oh no,” Simon said, rolling the ring to catch it between clever fingers. “This is all too much.” 

Richard gently pushed the man’s hand away. “Honestly, it’s not nearly enough for saving him,” he said glancing over at Gavin, whose cheeks finally seemed to be getting some colour to them, the tips of his ears turning a delightful shade of red. 

Simon sighed, but tucked the ring into his pocket. A knock at the door had them all freezing. “Take this,” Simon whispered, passing the glass of water. “Stay quiet.” He pushed through the curtain, the stones and metal jingling, and obscuring him from view. 

Richard returned to his seat, held Gavin’s hand as they both remained silent, listening into the conversation going on in the other room. 

“Oh good, you’re okay,” a woman’s said. “Might you have some salve for burns? A torch fell during the raids and hit Jamie in the arm, he’s in such pain.” 

“I’m sure I do,” Simon said. “Afraid I was in the middle of re-organizing before the skirmish, which is to say everything is in quite the disarray.” 

The floors creaked, and Gavin’s hand tightened on Richard’s. 

“I can’t believe the nerve of those Sylvian bastards,” the woman said. 

“It was foolish of them to make a push here,” Simon said. “Queen Amanda will not let this stand.” 

“Of course not, that’s why she’s marrying Prince Richard off to the King of Kent. I hear the king is already here, quite the fuss, the man arriving so soon after the battle.” 

A little hum from Simon, and the clink of jars. 

“My sister works inside the castle,” the woman said. “She says that the prince seems a little off.” 

Richard’s brow pinched, and Gavin half sat up and then bit back a groan. Richard shushed him as quietly as he could, and guided him to lay back against the pillows. 

“I suppose that’s normal though,” the woman continued. “The Prince has never seen battle. Too well protected by the Queen. He’s going to get a rude awaking when she passes, don’t you think?” 

“So, the prince is in the castle,” Simon said, his voice lilting with curiosity. 

“Well of course, where else would he be?” 

“Right,” Simon said with a forced laugh. “Of course. Where else, indeed.” 

“I also heard that the knight he always had with him is missing. My bet is he’s dead, and that’s why the prince is all out of sorts. Maybe he blocked it out. Or perhaps he was injured more than is being let on.”

“The salve,” Simon said. “And I think you’ve been reading too many stories.”

The woman laughed. “Perhaps you’re right. Here’s the coin. And I’ll bring you some lavender next time. I keep forgetting.” 

“Take care.” 

“You too.”

The door closed, and Richard let out a breath. 

“What the fuck,” Gavin said, struggling to sit up, and Richard folded one of the pillows to help support him. 

Simon came back through the string curtain, staring right at Richard. “You’re the prince.”

“Obviously.”

“And the prince is inside the castle?” Simon raised a brow. 

“An impostor,” Gavin struggled to get up, but for once Richard was stronger, pushing him back down. “Rich—what if they’re some kind of spy for King Kamski?”

“I’ll… I’ll go back,” Richard said, even though it pained him. So much for this moment he so wanted to draw out. “I’ll straighten this out.” 

“I’m coming with you.”

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Simon said, his hand gently on Gavin’s shoulder. “You’re healing, and you’re going to stay put.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Stay,” Richard said, the memory of blood on his hands, Gavin’s full weight against his body, the orders from Simon as they worked on keeping Gavin alive. “That’s an order.” 

“That’s not fair,” Gavin muttered. 

There was a tension between them. Simon cleared his throat. “I’ll be in the other room.” The sound of crystals knocking against metal announced his departure. 

“I’ll let the Knight Commander know where you are,” Richard said. “He’ll have you safely brought home.” 

Gavin’s hands clenched into fists. “Great, I can be back at the castle in time to be security for your wedding.” 

Richard didn’t think that the man would even be able to walk much by that time much less be put in full armour for the ceremony, but kept his mouth shut about it lest it lead to a second argument. “It’s not that I want to be wed to the king. You know that.”

Gavin rubbed the bridge of his nose, the scar there he’d gotten when they were younger, when he’d been still been a squire to the Knight Commander and had put himself between an enemy blade and Richard—it had earned him a knighting, and his position as Richard’s guardian. 

“I know,” Gavin whispered. “Sorry. I know… I know it isn’t what you want either.”

“Gavin.” Richard shifted a little closer, leaning over the man a little. Gavin’s gaze drifted down to Richard’s lips, then back to his eyes. “I-I don’t think we’re going to have another chance—” Gavin was lightning fast, hand around the back of his neck pulling him in those last few inches even as he surged up from his prone position, kissing him with all the passion and longing that had been building in them both for years. 

One kiss. That was all they would have. A first. A last. 

Gavin inhaled sharply, and Richard moved back. 

“No,” Gavin muttered. “I’m fine.” 

Richard checked the bandage, seeing the smallest bit of pink. “Lay back down, you’re pulling the stitches.” 

“Rich—”

“Simon will stay with you,” Richard stood. “I’m sure the Knight Commander will be happy to hear you’re okay. He must be worried.”

“Try not to get mugged on the way back,” Gavin said flippantly, eyes on the sheet he was rubbing between fingers. 

“I’ll be fine,” Richard said. “I learned to defend myself from the best.” He pushed the beaded curtain aside, and stepped into the disarray of Simon’s shop. 

The apothecary glanced up from his reordering of supplies. “Be well, My Lord.” 

“Thank you, Simon. For everything.” 

“Remember that gratitude when the guard is furious I didn’t come forth with their man.” 

“I assure you, I will handle it, and see you rewarded.” 

“The ring is already too much.” 

_It’s not nearly enough,_ Richard thought, but decided it was best to be on his way without showcasing anymore of his heart. 

The streets seemed different in the mid-day light. Evidence of the violence from the night before was still there, but the bodies had been removed, the injured were being tended to, people were cleaning their homes, helping their neighbours. Livonians were strong, and after this they would come back even stronger. 

No one made note of him as he walked through the streets. He figured he must appear to be in a similar state to the rest of them. His plain clothes had dried blood all down the side from Gavin, he’d ended up a bit dirtied when he’d been the one to clean out the fireplace and light it while Simon had stitched Gavin up. He could only imagine what his hair must look like, considering how he’d stressfully pushed it back out of his face dozens of times while waiting for Gavin to wake up. 

An elderly woman stumbled a little as she tried to right the side of a rain barrel, and he reached out to steady her. “Please, allow me to assist you.” 

“Oh, thank you—” she wiped her hands on her already dirtied apron, “—you’re a good lad.” 

Once he had the barrel righted, she offered her skills as a seamstress should he need anything hemmed or repaired. 

“I’ll keep it in mind, but must be on my way,” he replied. 

“Keep well,” she told him with a smile. 

As he came to the crossroads he saw two men carrying yet another body away. A girl with fresh stitches on her face scrubbed blood from her home. A group of mothers were circled together, one with a babe in her arms, five children half-hiding in their mother’s skirts, some crying, others watching fearfully. 

Never again. 

He wouldn’t let his country, nor his city be damaged, and certainly not let his people suffer, and die. Not if he could help it. 

He’d marry the King of Kent, not that he had much choice in it, but he couldn’t be angry with his mother for the decision. He understood, and it settled in his bones. Livonia and Kent would fight back Sylvan, take over, bring a peace he’d never known in his lifetime. 

These children would grow up and prosper, no more fear, no more death. 

He walked up to the barbican a few knights stood guard. The Livonian army was numerous, and Richard didn’t know all of them. Just his luck it would be two guards he was unfamiliar with. He looked up to the battlements but couldn’t tell at the distance who the archers were. 

“I need to speak with Knight Commander Allen at once.” 

“We’re busy, begone!” 

“I am Prince Richard.” Richard stood straight as his mother taught him, put every bit of power into his voice that he could. “I demand to speak with Knight Commander Allen at once! One of his—”

The shove came hard and fast, knocking him back several steps before regaining his balance. “I said begone with you!” 

“The prince you have inside is an impostor, I am the true Prince Richard, and I demand to be speak with Kn—” the sword of the knight came to just shy of his throat, he didn’t even have time to pull his dagger. Gavin would be disappointed. 

“Last warning. We have enough troubles today without adding to them,” the soldier said. 

Richard took a step back, then another. 

“Smart man,” the soldier said lowering his weapon. 

Richard looked around the immediate area, but saw none with the insignia of the Royal Guard. He would have to figure something else out, getting taken to the pillory wasn’t going to help his case. He would return to the apothecary. Perhaps Gavin would have an idea. 

∙∙∙

A knock at the door interrupted Connor’s pacing. At this rate, he’d leave a worn section on the fancy rug at the foot of the bed. He had to answer it. The servants knew he was inside. Perhaps they’d brought him something to eat since he had left during what should have been breakfast. 

He pulled open the door only to see the King of Kent. “Oh.” 

The man was flanked by his two guards, on either side, but they had their backs to either side of the door. An illusion of privacy. 

King Henry lifted a plate, and a heavy earthenware tankard. “Figured you might be hungry.”

“That’s—” he took a deep breath hoping to calm his rabbit heart, “—that is very thoughtful of you, thank you.” King Henry raised a brow and Connor took a step back. “Please, come in.” The King passed him, but the guards stayed outside. Connor wasn’t sure if they’d appreciate the door being shut, and so he left it open. 

King Henry set the food and drink down on the table near the window, and Connor joined him. 

“Your mother says you were unwell.” 

“Last night was—” Connor struggled to find a word to fit. A king surely knew battle by Henry’s age, would he find Connor weak, and unworthy for finding it horrifying?

King Henry made a low humming sound. “I understand.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t have the stomach for violence,” Connor found himself saying before wondering if the real Prince would say such a thing. He pressed his lips into a thin line, he should be silent unless asked, and only offer the bare minimum. That would be safer. 

“That isn’t a bad thing,” King Henry said. “Look at King Elijah Kamski of Sylvan. Blood hungry, that one is. Look what it’s done to his people.” The man scoffed. “Leaders shouldn’t yearn for blood and power. A good King knows that violence is sometimes necessary to protect your country and kin, but shouldn’t go looking for trouble where there isn’t any.” 

Connor took a long drink from the tankard to give himself time to formulate a response. “It’s a comfort that you think in such a way.” 

King Henry gave him a soft smile, and Connor felt his cheeks warm. He shoved a piece of potato into his mouth to keep himself from talking. 

“King Kamski probably attacked last night in hopes to break off our marriage. Either by killing one of us—my caravan was attacked last night as well—or by laying siege and taking over Livonia’s capital,” King Henry frowned. “He knows we are stronger together. He is afraid. And unfortunately, that is one place where violence is the only answer, but our combined forces will ultimately bring peace. I believe that.” 

A calm settled inside of Connor, for a moment he forgot himself, where he was, who he was pretending to be. The King was so kind, intelligent, and full of compassion. Strong handed when it was called for, but merciful where possible. 

“Tell me something about yourself,” King Henry requested. 

Connor slowed his chewing, trying to think of something about himself that might line up with that of Prince Richard, and drawing a blank. He couldn’t talk about noble festivities or sword fighting for he knew nothing of either. His own experiences were that of a commoner at best, a servant to the blacksmith at worst. 

He swallowed the potato. “What would you like to know?” He shoved a piece of meat in, it was a tougher chew, and would buy him more time. 

“Anything,” King Henry replied. 

_There is nothing of interest about me._ “Beltane is my favourite holiday of the year,” he said, knowing it was something celebrated in both countries. “Everyone is so happy, and festive. There are lots of bright flowers, and everything just—” he bit his bottom lip. Had he said too much? Would the Prince care about such a thing? The Prince had finery at all times of the year. 

“People are happier, everything looks more alive,” King Henry offered. “I feel the same. Cole loves it too.” 

Cole? He’d heard the name before, mentions of it in the streets. The prince! Prince Cole of Kent. He couldn’t be very old, but still old enough to have a preference of holidays. 

“What is he like?” Connor asked, figuring it a safe topic, one that King Henry might get long winded on, and any time spent with the attention off of himself was good. 

“A menace. Got him a dog last year, to teach him responsibilities.” The King sighed. “Now they’re just both absolute mayhem. Sumo doesn’t seem to understand his size, full body wiggled when he saw Markus—one of my guard who keeps bribing the dog with food—”

“I can’t help it, he begs with his eyes,” a voice came from the hall, surely Markus. Connor already felt warmly toward the knight who had a soft spot for the puppy. 

“You are weak of will,” A female voice said. “As are half the men of the guard. That dog will be overweight in a years time.” 

King Henry huffed out a breath. “My Knight Commander, North, and her right hand Markus. You’ll be seeing a lot of them. Anyway, Sumo is still a puppy, and bigger than he thinks he is. Whenever he sits in Cole’s lap, you can’t even see the kid anymore.” 

Connor laughed. “I look forward to seeing that, and meeting Cole.” _But you won’t, you need to escape, you’ve dug yourself a hole, and that hole is going to become your grave._

Henry talked a bit more about Cole, told him of the humourous antics of the child and his dog. Connor’s dreamer heart leaned into the fantasy of royal finery, a kind-hearted husband, a child and a dog, playing in the fields, banquets that would ensure he never again was hungry, warm fires that weren’t connected with the labour and oppressive heat of the forge. Henry would see to it that he was cared for, and happy. He’d have a harp and play it as his mother taught before she got ill, before the treatments put him into indentured servitude. She’d gotten better for a while, died the next winter. He didn’t regret his decision, the debt, not when it had given her the summer and fall in health, and happiness. 

He closed his eyes, and let the daydream fade away. Foolish dreamer heart, latching to things he could not have. 

“You’re quiet,” King Henry noted. “Or are you nervous?” 

“Perhaps both,” Connor said. 

“Well, I understand I’m no spring chicken, but I promise you will be safe and cared for.” 

“You’re very handsome,” Connor blurted and felt his cheeks redden. “I mean—um—anyone would be very luck to be your betrothed. I am very lucky.” 

Slightly shaking shoulders, lips pressed into a line, King Henry was doing his best not to laugh.

Connor found himself wearing a self-deprecating smile. “I am not very good with words.”

“Nonsense, I think you’re perfect. Admittedly, not what I expected from the letters from Queen Amanda, but it’s a pleasant surprise.”

“What were you expecting?” Connor asked, hoping to glean more insight to the true Prince. 

“Rigid formality, but perhaps that is just what your mother sees.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “Or perhaps she wished to assure me you weren’t one of those wild royals who do as they please with no care for another. I admit, I would find that most irritating.” King Henry leaned in a little closer. “Your eyes are incredible.” 

Connor nearly dropped his fork. He knew his eyes were odd, mostly brown with a quarter of both irises blue. A fortune teller once told him it meant he was cursed in a previous life. Another woman insisted it meant he’d split his soul in two. He didn’t believe either, and it had never bothered him until this moment. What were the odds that the Prince had the same oddity? Then again, the Queen had held him close, surely she had to have noticed?

Knight Commander North shifted to stand fully in the doorway. “I hate to interrupt, but you’re due for your meeting with the advisors.” 

“Ah, well duty calls,” King Henry stood, and Connor followed his lead. 

“It was a pleasure to truly meet you, King Henry,” Connor said performing his best bow. 

“For you, just Hank is fine.” King Henry—Hank--took Connor’s hand, and bowed to kiss his knuckles. “I look forward to seeing you again. I hear tell Livonia’s rose gardens are a sight to behold. Perhaps you can take me on a tour tomorrow.” 

“I would be delighted,” Connor replied.

Hank took a step back. “Until then, Richard.”

The name hit like a slap to the face. Connor was falling for Hank, but Hank was a victim of his rouse. 

∙∙∙ 

“Ah, there you are,” Queen Amanda said, stopping Connor as he wandered through the halls restlessly, looking for the means in which to escape without alerting the guards. 

He almost blurted a ‘Your Royal Majesty’ like he was a servant. He wondered what Prince Richard called her: Mother? Mom? Mama? “Do you have need of me?” 

She smiled and hooked her arm around his. “We do have a wedding to plan.” 

“Right.”

“I know it was sprung upon you, and I wish I could allow you the luxury of choosing your own spouse, but our country has exhausted it’s options and it’s army. We need to solidify our alliance to Kent.” 

“I understand,” Connor said, wondering if the Prince would give in so easily. 

Queen Amanda led the way out into the rose gardens, and Connor made note of where they were. She stopped, and he reached out to touch one of the yellow petals, so soft against his skin, the fragrance was one he now placed as lingering on Amanda the other times he’d seen her. She probably made perfume out of the plants, or perhaps added them to bath water. 

“We will have the finest roses at the wedding,” she said. “Do you have a preference of colour?” 

Closing his eyes, he could imagine his own mother. Had it really been seven years since she passed? Amanda’s hand was warm on his arm, not pushing, not pulling, just casual in it’d touch. How he longed for his mother, a gentle guiding hand, an ear for him in times of need, a warm hug with the affirmation that things would turn out for the best. 

He’d received his dreamer heart from her. 

He needed to be smart, he had to place the part of the Prince, and what would he want for his wedding day? “Is it possible to dye the white roses.” 

“Hmm, depending on the colour,” Queen Amanda replied, guiding him over to the tall white blooms. 

“Blue, for Livonia.” 

“A lovely choice.” Amanda said. “Kent’s colours are silver on black, too challenging for dyes. However, over here,” she guided him through the gardens. “This is Artemisia Cana,” she crouched to touch one of the tall shoots with narrow leaves. “It could add the silver touch.” 

The wedding wouldn’t happen. Connor had to leave before he was found out. Still… “They are very nice.” 

Amanda stood, and linked her arm around his once more. “You spoke with King Henry.” The two of them walked around the bend, puffy pink flowers gave off a beautiful scent. “How did he treat you?” 

“Like a gentleman,” Connor said, and saw the worry in Queen Amanda’s brow ease away. “He brought me food, and drink. We talked briefly, and he was nothing but kind. He has a dog, a puppy still I suppose, quite the troublemaker along with his son. Nothing serious, mind you, just humourous, I think he wished to put me at ease, ensure my comfort.” 

“I can hardly imagine you as a step-father, but you are good with children when we are out in the city, and with the servant’s children.” 

Once more he wondered what happened to the true Prince Richard, the Prince who was kind to children. 

Connor bit down on his lower lip, chewed it a little as they walked. 

They came around full circle back to the castle, and she turned to face him, cupping his face in her hands. “I might not have bore you, but I have loved you since the day you were born. Myra would be so proud of you.” 

He smiled softly, trying to soak up the soft touch. 

“I am proud of you,” Queen Amanda continued. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” he said, letting her pull him into an embrace, and hugging her back, holding onto the moment of comfort, he didn’t want to leave. He wished to be Amanda’s son, to be Hank’s betrothed, to be whisked away to a castle and know true safety and comfort. 

Maybe the Prince would never be found. 

Maybe he could just… stay. 

Was it worth the risk?

∙∙∙

Still undecided about what to do, Connor prowled the castle, looking for a way out without being seen, and still found none. 

“My Lord. My Lord! Prince Richard!” 

Connor remembered that was supposed to be his title now, and turned around. A female knight with the symbols of both the Livonian army, and the Royal Guard on her armour, he waited for her to catch up. “I’ve been looking for you. Knight Commander Allen has ordered me to do your sword training… until Gavin finds his way back.” She looked down at her shoes before remembering herself and her head snapped back up to attention. “Bright and early, meet me down in the bailey.” 

“Of course,” he agreed terrified he’d lose his head, surely they were careful with the Prince? Wooden swords?

She didn’t leave, but shifted her weight, her lips pursing a little to the side. “My Lord… I know you left with Gavin that night—” 

Of course, he’d noticed a guard at every single entry point, of course Richard and Gavin had a way out, a guard that would allow them to pass. 

“I know what you told the Knight Commander, but please. He’s my best friend, he’s like a brother to me. We’ve… we’ve always had each other’s backs. What happened?” 

His heart fluttered in his chest. “We just got separated when everything happened. I don’t know. The Knight Commander and some of his guard found me, escorted me back to the castle.”

She blinked quickly but he still noticed her eyes a little glassy, his stomach twisted and his heart ached. “I see.” 

“Is the guard still looking for him?”

“Not actively, if the guard heard tell or rumor of him we’d look into it,” she said. “By now he would have made his way back if he could.” 

The words hung heavy, a sharpened blade overhead. 

The Prince and his Guard had likely been together, and if they could have come back, they would have. 

Maybe they were still alive. 

A long shot. 

A confession lingered, bitter on his tongue. 

“Tina!” At the end of the hall was Knight Commander Allen. “With me!” 

“Yes, Sir!” She snapped up at attention, but quickly bowed to Connor. “I’ll see you in the morning, My Lord.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Right through here,” Connor said, leading Hank out into the garden. The setting sun gave a soft ethereal glow to the space. Markus stayed by the door, but North followed them as far back as she could but it still didn’t provide them with privacy. Connor glanced over his shoulder at her, and whispered, “I don’t think she trusts me.” 

“It’s her job to not trust anyone,” Hank said with a grin. “That said, it’s not you she’s worried about. You must understand, there are those who do not want this marriage to happen. And you never know who might be a spy.” 

“Right, of course,” Connor replied, looking about as if one might jump from the shrubs. 

“This is some place.” Hank paused at one of the roses. “Had a Livonian bard come through Kent once, played a season at court, sang the most beautiful song about the gardens of this country. It’s nice to see it wasn’t an exaggeration.” 

“I walked with—” he couldn’t call Queen Amanda by title, not as he pretended to be her son. “Mother,” he choked on the word, and cleared his throat. “Earlier, we… we talked about flowers for the wedding.” 

“Did you come to any conclusions?”

“I believe we’re going to dye some of the roses blue. And there are silver, uh… what were they called?” Connor took the risk and linked his arm with Hank’s, and the King smiled. “I’ll show you, they’re over past the pink flowers.” 

“Not much of a gardener?”

“Not unless the plant serves a purpose. Like Aloe Vera for burns, or Lavender for sleep.” Anxiety seeped in once more as he compared himself to the Prince he’d never met. 

“They’re nice,” Hank said when Connor pointed out the plants Amanda had shown him. “Admittedly I don’t know much about plants, or floral design, but I don’t doubt Livonians when it comes to such things.” 

The wedding was only a few days away, soon the flowers would be cut so the roses would have time to be dyed. 

“Tell me something,” Hank said as they walked together through the garden toward a bench. “If you hadn’t been born a prince—” _oh by the Mother Goddess, he knows, he knows, he knows,_ “—what would you do? Who do you think you would be?” 

Connor sat down on the bench as Hank did, his arm still around the other man’s, they were so close to one another, and yet Connor wished to be closer still. He wished to soak up the kindness, to learn more of the king. 

“I like singing.” 

“Really,” Hank perked up. “Well, let’s have a listen.” 

“Oh, oh I haven’t in a long time, and—” he spotted North not far off, one of the Royal Guard on the other side of the garden. 

“Hmm, shy?” 

Afraid that Prince Richard wouldn’t be caught dead singing. “A little.” 

“Later then.” 

“A wedding gift,” Connor said, feeling foolish, a promise he could not keep. 

Hank’s responding hum was a low vibration Connor was sitting close enough to feel. “I’d like that.” 

They wandered the rest of the gardens, and Hank escorted Connor back to Prince Richard’s bedroom. A kiss to his knuckles, and a bow. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Connor smiled. “Until then.” He leaned back against the door frame as he watched Hank’s guard flank him once again. 

In the time he’d been gone, his bed had been made, clothing for the morning’s training had been left out. 

Tina’s concern for her friend ate away at his conscience, and despite the comfortable bed, and soft blankets, sleep refused to come. 

∙∙∙

The wedding, only two days away had the castle a buzz. Kara woke him after only a few hours. “You’re expected at the bailey, My Lord.” 

He’d dressed, got turned around for a moment before remembering his way. He walked outside, the morning air still held a chill. There were a few merchants inside of the castle walls, likely with wares for the nuptials. 

Tina was waiting by a sword rack. _Oh Mother Goddess, protect me,_ he prayed. 

“My Lord,” she gave a quick bow, and when she straightened he noticed the dark circles under her eyes, she hadn’t been sleeping well either. She pulled a sword, shiny, sharp steel. “Pick a sword.” 

He stood in front of the rack, his hand shook as he picked a sword, and nearly toppled the stand pulling it free. Tina looked unimpressed. Connor was used to swinging a hammer in the forge, he was used to making blades, not wielding them. 

She got into a stance, and he did his best to mirror it, holding his sword up. “Ready?” she asked, and he gave a nod. “Go.” 

Her moves were fast and furious, he was disarmed in three seconds. She frowned. “Gavin always brags about how good you are. What was that?” 

“Just… distracted.” He took a step back, and retrieved his blade. “I’ll do better.” 

He didn’t. 

They went again, and she ducked under his clumsy swing, and tapped her sword against his side. She shouted instructions he didn’t really understand.

She dropped low and with a swipe of her leg, he fell back to the unforgiving ground, air leaving his lungs, weapon falling out of reach. The point of her blade rested against his adam’s apple. 

“Tina?” the blade trembled in her grip, and he could feel it on his vulnerable skin.

“You got him killed!” She bared her teeth, but pulled the weapon back. “You took him out that night, and you didn’t bring him back. And how could you even if you wanted to. You’re a disaster with a sword. I can’t believe—he was so fucking proud of you, of all you’d learned, but look at you. Weak. Worthless. Gavin is dead because of you.” 

Tears slid down her face, and he found his resolve crumble. 

“I’m… I’m not Prince Richard.” 

“Fuck off—”

“I’m not. I just… look like him. The Knight Commander took me in. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t the prince but I-I was too nervous, and they brought me safety to Queen Amanda, and gave me a bath, and clean clothes, and warm food, and a soft bed. I thought the true Prince would come home! I thought I would be found an impostor, but just… a night of comforts.” He took a deep breath. “And then I met Han-King Henry and he’s so kind, and I thought, just for a little while longer, I wasn’t hurting anyone.” 

“You’re coming with me,” Tina said, reaching down and grabbing his tunic just below his throat, hauling him back to his feet. “The hounds have finally calmed down enough from battle, and there is one that’s mostly uninjured. We’re going to get the scent of Gavin, and Prince Richard, and we’re going to find them.” 

“Will you tell the Knight Commander?”

Tina stared at him a long moment. “Your hands have little burns, and small cuts.” She looked around. “You’re not the only one with a history of being someone else.” She glared up at him. “I’ll make a decision about what to do with you once we find them.” 

‘Dead or alive’ went unsaid.

He swallowed hard, but fell into stride with her. 

∙∙∙ 

“They didn’t believe me, Gavin,” Richard said, as calm as he could despite the fact that they’d been through this already several times. 

“You’re the crowned prince, Rich. Make them believe you.”

“And risk the pillory? Or spies!” Richard paced the room, trying to find a solution to their problem. “I’ve told you before, we need to play this smart.” 

“I’ll fucking march you back—”

“You will do no such thing. You are on bed rest! Your wound needs time to heal.”

“Rich—”

“I won’t have you endangering your life for mine. Not again. Not like this.” 

Gavin sighed. 

Richard smoothed down the front of the tunic Simon had given him, it hole had been patched with some itchy green fabric, but at least it wasn’t covered in blood. Of course the guard would only see him as a commoner. They couldn’t look past the state he’d been in, and this was no better. 

Maybe if he got his hands on some finer linens—

A knock at the door derailed his thoughts, and he moved to peek through the beaded curtain. Blurred through the crystal he saw a few figures, and heard a bark. 

“Wait—” Simon said. 

Richard backed up, pulled his dagger, ready to defend Gavin only for Meatball to come dashing in. The barely restrained dog tried to jump on Richard, yipping excitedly, full body wiggles, despite the patch on his hindquarters. 

“T!” Gavin exclaimed. 

“You’re alive,” Tina let out a breath. 

While they were having their reunion, Richard couldn’t stop staring.“Who? What? How?” he tripped over the words, staring at… himself. No mirror, just a perfect replica. 

“Why in the name of the Mother are you two here?” Tina demanded. 

“Uh, counter question,” Gavin said. “Who the fuck is that?”

“My name is Connor.” 

“I think you owe us an explanation,” Richard snapped. 

Connor lowered his gaze, and nodded. “I’ll tell you everything.” 

They sat together in the room, all of them: Richard, Gavin, Simon, Tina, and Connor. Listening to Connor, Richard gained a better understanding of his betrothed, and developed a deep sense of empathy for Connor. 

“Wasn’t there anyone in your true life you could trust to go back to?” Richard asked at one point. 

Connor was quiet for a long moment, taking slow, controlled breaths. “No.”

Richard’s heart ached for the man who’d known so little kindness in his life that he’d taken such a big risk for just a taste of the things that Richard took for granted daily. 

“I’m sorry,” Connor whispered. “If… if I’d spoken up, if I’d made them see reason that first night, they would have looked for you. They would have found you then! I’m so sorry!” 

Richard glanced at Gavin, at the moments they’d been able to share that never would have happened if they’d been inside of castle walls. A blessing in disguise. He wished for more, for another night with Gavin, to ignore the fact that he’s betrothed to a man he’s never met, to be free of the expectations put upon him, to have the privilege of following his heart, one more moment where he doesn’t have to pretend that he’s not hopelessly in love with Gavin. In the way Connor spoke of King Henry, he was sure the man wished for such freedom too, just one more night of pretending to be someone they’re not, of Connor getting to be royalty, to be safe in those walls, to be with the King. 

“Connor,” Richard watched as the man’s eyes went wary, fearful, and he hated it. “I wish to ask a favour of you.” 

“Anything,” Connor said so earnestly it caused a physical ache in Richard’s chest. 

“One more night.” 

“I-I don’t understand.” 

“You want it too, I can hear it in your voice, in the way you speak of King Henry. I just—” he glanced at Gavin and knew he’d given himself away. “I want one more night of freedom to do as I please, to love whom I please.” He watched as Gavin’s ears went red, and lips twitched into a smile. “One more night of this rouse, and then we switch places once more.” 

“I will do as asked,” Connor said, glancing at Tina. 

“Keep him safe,” Richard said to her. 

“Of course, My Lord.” 

When they left, Simon announced he was going to the tavern for a drink and wouldn’t be back for a few hours, and stated that Gavin should not do any strenuous activities.

Richard waited until he heard the door close before he carefully lowered himself onto the bed at Gavin’s uninjured side. 

The time spent with Gavin had only made him desire his protector more. Still, he understood his duty, to his country, his people. Sometimes, a Prince had to sacrifice. His heart ached at the thought of leaving Livonia, of leaving his mother. 

Of leaving Gavin. 

He closed his eyes, and turned his face against Gavin’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. “I love you.” The words were out, in this quiet room with the fire crackling to keep out the night chill, no one but the Mother Goddess to hear the words, a promise and a prayer. 

“Fuck, Rich—” Gavin’s voice was rough, and Richard felt a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you, too.” 

They kissed once, then again, Richard trembling under the weight of everything. “It’s okay,” Gavin said against his lips. “It’s okay, I’m here, lay down, rest, I’m here, you’re okay.” 

One final night. Richard rested his head on Gavin’s shoulder, and tried to memorize his love’s face, fingers dragging along the stubble on his jaw, down his neck, resting over that steady beat of his heart that ultimately lulled him to sleep. 

∙∙∙

Connor awoke, not in a comfortable bed, not even in the worn out cot in the forge, but sitting upright against a pole, ropes tied around him. His head ached, memories of leaving the apothecary with Tina, and Meatball were fuzzy. He remembered a shout, and something coming down hard against the back of his head. Then, nothing. 

He wriggled, but there was no give. 

“Good, you’re awake,” Tina’s voice came from behind him, and he turned as much as he could to see she was tied up on the other side. 

“What happened?” 

“Best guess, Kamski’s men. Spies in our midst, loyal to Sylvan.” She spat. “Rat bastards.” 

A commotion from outside silenced them both. The door slammed open, and Gavin was tossed to the floor. He howled, curled around his mid-section the best he could considering his wrists were tied behind his back. Richard pulled away from the men, and toward Gavin, falling to his knees, heavy manacles keeping him from reaching out. 

Richard turned a furious eye on the three men, but kept quiet. In that moment, Connor wondered how anyone could have mistaken him for the fierce Prince. Richard clearly calculating their odds, the best moves to make, he’d trained for this while Connor had grown under harsh demands, and taught to obey orders or suffer the consequences. 

“You need to release me,” Richard said with an air of authority. “He needs to be bandaged, you’ve pulled his stitches.” 

Connor tensed as he watched one of the men walk up to Richard. He seemed to be the leader, armour plain, but well made, a ring on his finger, a nasty scar through his chin. The man’s fingers threaded through Richard’s hair, and viciously yanked back. “Who do you think is giving the orders here?” He shoved Richard away, but it wasn’t enough to make him fall over. 

A fourth man entered. “That fucking dog bit me. I don’t know if we’re going to be able to tame it. Might be best to put the fucker down.” 

Connor felt Tina tense where their shoulders met, and he wriggled his hands until he could grab hers in silent support. 

“Hm. We’ll see. Rare breed, and they’re vicious in battle. Our King will be pleased with the offering of something so unique.” 

“You,” the leader said pointing to the man with shockingly pale hair. “Stay with them.” Then to the man with dark hair, and a bloodstain on his shirt. “You outside the door, keep an eye out for anyone coming around these parts. We’re not as far from the city as I’d’ve liked.” 

Both men obeyed quickly. The leader shot a smile Connor’s way. “Time to send a little letter to mother dearest.” 

The man with pale blond hair leaned back against the wall near the door as the other men left, and the door swung shut. 

“Just what do you think this will achieve?” Richard asked. “A quarter of Kent’s forces are in Livonia. Any army you bring in will be slaughtered.” 

The man just smiled. 

Gavin groaned, and Connor was unnerved by how pale he’d become, sweat coating his hairline. 

“You know,” Richard said conversationally and yet with the sharp edge of a knife, “—the guillotine hasn’t been used in Livonia in over a hundred and fifty years. Somehow, I think an exception might be made.” 

Connor trembled, and Tina held his hands tighter. He didn’t want to watch Gavin suffer, and potentially die on the floor of this filthy cabin. He’d been so scared about returning to Zlatko, knowing he had no other choice. That had been the worst option, the only option. Yet, here they were, this was worse. This was so much worse. 

Connor remembered the finery he wore, and lifted his head. “That man requires medical aid. Queen Amanda will not pay for a dead man.” 

“We don’t want coin,” the man said with a smirk. “And the only one we really need to keep alive is you, but this one looks so much like you that it wouldn’t matter would it? I could kill you, and dressed him up. Having two is a contingency plan, so I advise keeping your mouth shut.” 

With a cold sweat down the back of his neck, he obeyed, afraid of the way the man looked down upon Richard, and Gavin, afraid of what the man would do. Sometimes protecting meant doing nothing at all. 

∙∙∙

“This is bad,” Joshua said. 

“You have a way with severely understating things,” North snarled. 

“Not just the prince,” Knight Commander Allen tapped the swatch of fabric on the table. “One of the royal guard.” 

“My Lady, if I may speak,” Kara requested. Queen Amanda gave the slightest of nods. “Richard and Gavin have been friends since boyhood. If Richard snuck out, perhaps he found Gavin, it would explain the insignia.” 

Hank read the letter once more, short and to the point, skimping on details. They have the prince, and want Livonia to surrender to Sylvan. It would be a slippery slope, it was half the reason Hank had sent his forces through Livonia to aid before, a risk to him, to his country, but should Livonia fall, Sylvan’s would be at his doorstep next. 

He thought of Richard, the sweet smiles, the blushing, the moments where Hank could see the guard coming down a little more each time. He wanted to know more, he wanted Richard to grow more comfortable with him. Sure, strengthening political ties, but he felt lucky he’d ended up betrothed to such a wonderful young man. 

A man who was being held against his will, and possibly injured. 

A man who had become a pawn in a very dangerous game. 

A knock at the door had them all turning. A young woman in commoners clothes, and flour on her cheek gave a regal bow that spoke of time spent at court. “My Lady, I have news of your son.” 

“Traci,” Queen Amanda paused, glancing at Hank. “One of my spies, sees all, hears all.” Her attention returned to the young woman with hair so dark it seemed blue in some lights. “Speak.” 

“I saw the man who delivered the letter. Noted him as suspicious. Followed him at a distance. Just outside of the city, at the old Philip’s farm—Mother Goddess bless their departed souls—there is a small group of them.” 

“How many?” Knight Commander Allen demanded, hand on the pummel of his sword. 

“I saw three. I don’t know if there are more. Also, they had with them a Livonian Hound.” 

“Those hounds are utterly loyal to their masters,” The Knight Commander muttered. 

Amanda turned to Hank. “Our countries are not yet bound, but will you aid us?” 

“I take it you have a plan,” Hank said. 

“Yes, but it in part relies on the forces you’ve brought with you.” 

“You’ll have the full support of my army,” Hank looked to North who gave him a sharp nod, he could always trust in her to get the job done. 

Amanda put her hands on the table, staring down at the map. “Here’s what we’re going to do—”

∙∙∙

The meeting point was still within Livonia but closer to the border of Sylvan than Amanda had travelled in years. Her Knight Commander extended a hand to help her from her carriage. He’d been vocal about the risks of this plan, but they were out of options, and time. 

That smug bastard King Elijah Kamski of Sylvan sat upon his armoured horse. “I see we’re finally able to put an end to all the fighting with your surrender.” 

“Quite the force you have with you to accept such a thing,” Amanda said. At least twenty-five on horseback. At least another fifty foot soldiers. 

“Quite the army you brought to give it.” 

That she knew. Fifty in Levonia’s colours—even though some of them were of Kent. More were marching toward them at intervals, far enough back, hidden in the dense trees, waiting for the signal. 

“Surrender is one thing,” Amanda said. “I still intend on leaving here alive.” 

“Of course,” Kamski smirked. “I’m sure you’ll be a joy at my court. Scholarly enough to even have a good position. Don’t fret, you’ll be well kept.”

Only years at court kept her reaction from showing on her face. The audacity of a King suggesting that she, a Queen, be kept like a showpiece. She would take great pleasure in aligning herself so tightly with Kent that they would would change the tide of this war that had been fought by generations. 

A screaming bolt of blue rose up into the sky behind her. The signal she’d been waiting for. 

It alarmed the horses, which grew skittish, Kamski’s own rearing back, his kinsmen directing their own horses to protect the King. 

“Livonia will not surrender,” Amanda took great pleasure in saying as Knight Commander Allen took a step in front of her. 

King Henry stepped out of the carriage with his two greatest soldiers. “And Kent will honour it’s allies.”

A cry of soldiers before battle. And then—chaos. 

∙∙∙

Richard paced in the grand hall. Traci stood against a pillar with her arms crossed, just watching him. “I don’t understand why she would push for a fight. If you knew where we were, why not just retrieve us as you did? Why go to battle?” 

“For one, we needed to ensure the bulk of forces were not at that cabin. Secondly, you’re the Prince of Livonia. That bastard, Kamski, thought he could come into our capital city, kidnap our prince, and force us to surrender to Sylvan? That must be addressed. So must the attack the other night, the bloodshed—time for some of it to be on their side.” 

“It was a foolish move. Both the Queen of Livonia, and the King of Kent at the frontlines of a battle that could see both countries without a leader on the same day!”

“You have a point.”

He turned at the sound of his mother’s voice. She wasn’t alone either, Commander Allen would have another scar on his face if the blood there was any indication. There were soldiers he knew, those he didn’t, and a man he had to presume was the King of Kent. 

The King sighed. “Richard. It’s good to see you in one piece,” he said taking a step forward, only for Richard to take a step back. The man froze, a puzzled expression on his face. 

“I need to explain what happened,” Richard said. “From the beginning.” And so he told them, of one last night of freedom with his best friend, a man he loved. He told them of the battle, and the apothecary. Told them of the soldiers turning him away. Told them of the man who looked so much like him who’d come to the apothecary with Tina and Meatball. “I should have come back right away, but I just—I wanted one last night of freedom.” He swallowed hard. “And then we were attacked again. Dragged off to that house, which Traci and the others rescued us from.” He looked to the floor, but knew it a sign of weakness. He looked back up at his mother. “I’m sorry.” 

“And this,” King Henry paused, and tried the name, “Connor?” 

“He’s the man you met,” Richard admitted. “He didn’t mean to deceive anyone. I—I don’t think he’s accustom to much kindness. Still, in the end, he and Tina came to find me and Gavin.” 

“I’ve told you before, you are the son of my previous lady-in-waiting Myra. She passed during one of Sylvan’s raids—one of the most violent ones. What I didn’t tell you—” Amanda folded her hands together in a rare tell. “What I didn’t tell you was that you had a twin brother, but you were the only child found that day.” 

“You think Connor—you think he’s—I have a brother?”

Amanda stepped forward, and cupped his face in her hands. “I loved Myra like a sister, and you are my son—so too shall be Connor, if he allows it.”

“Would he too have a title?” Hank asked. 

She startled a bit, but Richard understood what he was really asking, and was thankful for it. 

Amanda’s thumb brushed over his temple, his birthmark usually hidden by his crown, a crown that on Connor hid the evidence of a mark lacking. “Any son of mine is a Prince of Livonia.”

“Perhaps we change the wording of our treaty,” King Henry suggested. “That is, if both Richard and Connor are amendable.” 

“Let us speak with Connor,” Amanda replied.

∙∙∙

The room was not a cell like Connor had been expecting. Instead, he waited in a room alone since Gavin was being tended to in the infirmary, Tina was getting Meatball settled after all of the excitement, and Richard wanted the chance to explain everything to his mother. 

And so Connor waited in a room that—for a moment—had been his. 

Richard had said he could change into anything he wanted, his own clothes streaked with dirt from when the men attacked, and dragged him off to the farm. 

He gravitated toward relatively plain trousers, and what was likely the oldest tunic the Prince had, old, forgotten, with little moth eaten holes. The clothes remade him back into Connor, servant to the blacksmith, with a debt that would take him a lifetime to repay.

A man like him didn’t belong in a room like this. He didn’t belong in this life. Queen Amanda would be furious about his deceit, King Henry would feel betrayed. Would his actions destroy the marriage treaty? Livonia couldn’t survive another full scale war with Sylvan. What if Livonia no longer had Kent’s support, it would be all his fault. 

He was moving before he’d thought everything through. He grabbed the pouch of coins that had started everything. If he’d stayed in hiding rather than go into the streets for it, all of this would have been avoided.

Oddly enough, he didn’t regret it. 

Yet, he knew there would be consequences for his actions, and he had to escape the castle walls. It wasn’t even difficult, in the post battle, everyone had something better to do than be watching him. 

In the street, he wondered where to go, what to do. The coin wouldn’t go far. Maybe if he followed the roads he could find a farm willing to put him to work for fair pay. It couldn’t be worse than his time in the forge working for Zlatko—which was on the main path, just up ahead. He took one step, and another. He couldn’t leave. Zlatko knew the farmers near the city. If Connor went to them—they would not aid him. The coin weighed heavy in his hand. Perhaps Zlatko would be lenient when he discovered that Connor had brought back the missing coin. 

“Connor!” His head snapped up, and there was Zlatko, standing outside of the forge, heavy leather apron, dirtied hands, and a furious scowl. “You little bastard! Think you could just leave?”

“I—No—the fighting just—” Connor felt his palms sweat, and he wanted to retreat, to go back to being cared for. 

“Connor!” 

He shut his eyes, it couldn’t be! How he’d wanted to hear his name in Hank’s voice. He looked over his shoulder, and there he was, flanked as usual by North and Markus. 

_Hank,_ the name on his tongue, but he no longer felt permitted to use it. 

“For fuck sake, what have you done?” Zlatko hissed, closer than Connor had realized, his hand a shackle on Connor’s bicep. “Bad enough you’d run off, but now you bring trouble with nobles back with you—”

“What’s going on here?” Hank asked. 

Zlatko looked ready to argue, but seemed to notice the crown upon Hank’s head, and think better of it. “This one owes a great debt to me, needs to finish working it off.” 

Hank appeared furious. “How much for his freedom?”

Connor closed his eyes at the price. Too much. Far too much, still, after years of work. He felt a presence at his side, and opened his eyes. North stood there, half in front of him, a pouch in hand. “A debt cleared.” 

Zlatko took the bag, opened it, eyes widening before his features were schooled once more. “A debt cleared,” he agreed, leaving without another look or word to Connor. 

Hank, he was sure, would be a more merciful owner. He wondered what task he’d be given. Maybe Kent needed more workers for the forge, and Connor had experience. From one fire to another. 

“Back to the castle,” North said. 

Connor followed along, trembling, trying to figure out the right words to express his gratitude. The guards admitted them, and he was led through parts of the castle he’d never seen. Inside of the library, a fire roared, and Amanda was sitting in a chair with a drink in hand. Richard stood near the fire, once more dressed like a prince, circlet crown back in place. 

Hank’s hand on the middle of his back gave him strength. “Markus will wait outside—if after you speak with Amanda you wish to talk to me, he will escort you to our guest rooms.” 

Connor didn’t understand, but Hank and North fell into stride together, walking away. Markus gave him a soft smile, and tilted his head toward the library. He didn’t have a choice, not really. He walked inside, slow and unsure. 

He fell to his knees before Amanda. “I beg your mercy, Your Royal Majesty.” 

She said his name like it pained her. The heavy goblet set aside, and her hands were cool, and gentle on his face, tipping it upward forcing him to look at her. “Off of the floor, take a proper seat. We need to talk.” 

As she spoke, his life rearranged. Amanda had no reason to lie to him, but the truths sounded impossible. His mother had always called him her miracle, had always said that he’d just come into her life like the Mother Goddess had blessed her. He chewed on his thumbnail. If what Amanda said was true, than he and Prince Richard were twins. 

“What… what does this mean?” 

“It means that you are every bit my son as Richard is,” Amanda said. “It means that I will ensure everyone knows that the lost prince has found his way home.” She passed him some wine. “It’ll bring some colour back to your face.” 

The taste was rich upon his tongue. 

Richard’s hand weighed heavy, but grounding upon his shoulder. “It’s strange, I always wanted a brother. Perhaps I knew one was missing this whole time.” 

_A brother, a mother, a family, a home._

Connor couldn’t help it. He wept, face in his hands trying to preserve some level of dignity only to find Richard squeezing into the space on the chair, his arms wrapping around Connor, holding him tight. 

“I know tonight has been a lot,” Amanda said, “but I promised King Henry that I would present the option to you.” 

He sniffled a little, trying to pull himself together, wiping the tears from his face before he looked at Amanda. Twisting the handkerchief Richard gave him, he listened. 

∙∙∙

At Connor’s request, Markus led him through the castle to the rooms that had been sanctioned for the guests from Kent. Markus nodded to North who stood outside. “He’s been waiting,” North said, knocking twice before opening the door for Connor. 

The room was fit for… well, a king. 

“Give us a moment,” Hank said to his guards, and North left, shutting the door. 

“Have a seat,” Hank said, not unkindly. “You look ready to fall over.” The King waited until Connor had settled into a plush chair before sitting across from him. “Richard and Amanda have me pretty much filled in. A lost prince, a case of mistaken identity. I take it, since you’re here, that Amanda gave you the proposition.” 

“That you marry me rather than Richard. She did.” Connor unfolded his brother’s handkerchief. “You’ve already purchased me out of servitude, I belong to you n—”

“No. Connor, no. You’re—Old Crone guide me—you’re free. You owe me nothing.” 

“I owe you everything.” 

Hank rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Answer me this, was anything you said to me true.” 

“I’m afraid I’m a poor liar, and I suppose lucky that everyone here was so unobservant not to pick out that I’m not Richard.” 

“The treaty depends on marriage. Countries with one of their former lords or ladies married in are more likely to remain loyal. So I will ask you this, Prince Connor of Livonia—” The title made Connor’s heart race, “—will you marry me, unite our countries, and be my companion to the end of our days?” 

Connor had already been given the choice—Richard was the eldest, contractually he was the one in the treaty already written. Amanda admitted that she’d seen them in the gardens from up on the battlements. _”You appeared struck in love by the Maiden herself.”_ The choice was his, to marry for love and country, or to turn King Henry away, and Richard would fulfill his duties. 

“Do you want me true? Though I lied, and was nothing more than an indentured servant?” 

“You’re a kind heart—”

“I lied.”

“You made it right. You went out to find Prince Richard, and his guard. And you’re enough of a romantic to give them a last night. I believe you’re a good man, Connor. I wish we had more time to get to know one another, but that is not the way of such things. You’ll need to make a—”

“Yes!” 

“—decision.” Hank wore a fond smile. 

Connor stood, and this time, he didn’t tremble.


	4. Chapter 4

Richard knocked on his brother’s door. “Are you ready.” 

A long whine of ‘no’ was muffled by the door. Richard rolled his eyes, entered the room, and shut the door so there would be no nosy guards, or servants privy to their conversation, or apparently his brother in nothing but small-clothes. 

“I don’t know what to wear!” Connor said gesturing to the two outfits on the bed, and Richard forced his attention to the clothing rather than the scars on his brother, evidence of the life he’d lived away from the safety Richard had been so privileged to have. 

The stunning blue outfit of Livonian style, had been made in a mix of cotton and silk, and was laid out on the left side of the bed. On the right side, the same bold blue—the colour of Livonia—but the style was that of Kent fashions, looser, lighter fabrics given that their seasons were warmer. 

“One a gift from mother, the other a gift from your future husband, I presume,” Richard said. 

“Won’t one be offended if I don’t chose theirs?” Connor paced. “If I choose Queen Ama-ah-mother’s, then won’t Hank be disappointed—I mean he’s stuck he has to marry me anyway, but I don’t wish to upset him on our first day of marriage. So, I should choose Hank’s, a sign of solidarity with my new country, but won’t Mother be so disappointed? I’m leaving soon, she cried the other night—it was so unexpected—”

“Connor, take a breath,” Richard said. Like their mother, he too was saddened by the fact he’d gained his brother only to lose him. However, it wasn’t like they would never see each other. They’d already made a promise to see each other at least once a season, trading of travelling turns. 

With a keen eye, he looked over Connor’s form, and then the two outfits. “This one,” he said pointing to the one from Hank. “I promise you, mother will not be disappointed, just wear the one she gave you for Yuletide. Besides—” he gestured to himself, already in his formal wear. “If you wear one of Livonia we will be a bit too matched, don’t you think? Last thing we need is for our grooms to get us confused.”

Connor released a startled laugh. “You’re quite right. Thank you.” His fingers danced over the fabric. “I should get dressed.” 

“Tina will be waiting outside,and ensure you don’t get lost on the way to the Great Hall.” 

“Hey! I’ve gotten better at finding my way!” 

Richard laughed, shutting the door behind himself. He smiled at Tina. “Keep him safe.” 

She gave him a nod. “On my honour, My Lord.” 

He took a quick left, and walked through the servants halls to get where he wanted without being seen by anyone. He knew the guards rotations and waited two minutes before exiting the other side. He didn’t knock, just slipped inside the room. 

A sword pressed to his throat before he could even fully close the door. “You’re not supposed to be here,” Gavin said, lowering the blade. 

Richard leaned back, listening to the latch on the door give a satisfying click. “I wanted to see you, is that so wrong?” 

“It’s bad luck.” 

“The Maiden smiles upon us,” Richard said. 

Gavin rolled his eyes. “You’re love-sick.”

“And there is no cure.” 

Gavin lost the battle to keep a straight face and smiled. “Nonsense, I’m sure Simon could figure something out.”

“I’m happily afflicted, leave me be.” 

“Rich, what are you really doing here? Having second thoughts about marrying below your station?” 

“I have no doubts about marrying you. None.” 

“Then why are you here?” 

Richard swiped a finger over the night table like he was inspecting it for dust. “I’m just… I’m going to miss Connor. I only just got my brother, and now I must lose him.” 

“He’s not dying,” Gavin said, sitting down on the chair by the fire, his legs stretched out, the new boots shined to perfection. “He’s just moving to a castle where he’s going to be insanely spoiled.” 

“You’re right, I know this,” Richard sat in the chair opposite. “I just wish I could have had more time with my brother.” 

“You two can still write.” 

“Yes, and we will.” 

“Don’t get too upset now,” he tapped his foot against Richard’s. “We have a night of revelry ahead.” 

“I look forward to it, my love.” Richard stood, knowing if he stayed a moment longer he might do something foolish, like crawl into Gavin’s lap and demand to be held, soothed, and kissed ever so gently. “I will see you soon, assuming you haven’t had second thoughts.” 

“I’ve been sure of you since we were fifteen,” he said, swiping his thumb over the scar he’d received protecting Richard. “There is no greater honour than being loved by you.” 

Richard hadn’t been prepared for such a confession, and the breath shuttered out of him. How was he to leave after that? 

The door swung open, and Knight Commander Allen darkened the doorway. “There you are,” he glared at Richard. “Would it kill you, for just one day, especially your wedding day, to actually be where you’re supposed to be?” 

“I suppose it wouldn’t _kill me_ —” Richard’s jaw snapped shut at the cool expression on the Knight Commander’s face. “Right, leaving.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll see you soon.” 

Gavin smiled. “Soon.” 

∙∙∙

When there was a knock on the door, Connor thought it was time, but Tina entered alone, and shook her head when he came forth. “This isn’t traditional,” she said looking a little confused, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do. “King Henry is outside, he wants you to meet someone before the ceremony. Do you accept?”

Connor didn’t believe in superstitions, and nodded. A part of him wanted to see Hank before hand, to see his future husband, to be assured, his fears put to rest, in a way only Hank could manage. 

Tina opened the door, held it open for Hank—who Connor focussed on. The man always looked regal, and powerful, handsome and refined, this was no different. Connor also saw the way the man’s eyes widened marginally, as he looked Connor over. It took a moment to pry his eyes away, and only then did he notice the small boy with shockingly blond hair, dressed in a similar fashion to his father. 

“You must be Cole,” Connor said, he’d heard so much about the boy, but hadn’t know a caravan had been sent so the young prince could attend the festivities. 

“I am,” the boy replied. “And you are Connor. Dad says that you can make a whistle from a blade of grass, and play the harp, and make swords, and stew, and that you have a brother who looks just like you, and that your favourite colour is green even though you wear a lot of blue and that you want to meet Sumo, but Dad said I couldn’t bring Sumo, and I don’t think that’s fair, he would want to see you two get married too. Sumo is a good boy.” 

“I believe you, but it would be such a long journey for a dog to be kept in a carriage,” Connor said. 

“Not really,” the boy shrugged. “Sumo is lazy.” 

Connor laughed. “Well, I’ll be delighted to meet him when we all return to Kent together.” 

“Will you teach me to whistle with a blade of grass?” Cole asked. 

“Of course.”

“What about to make swords?” 

Connor grimaced, trying to hide the way his hands shook. 

“Not the best memories, kid,” Hank said, hand on Cole’s shoulder. 

Connor wondered what had been explained to the boy. Especially since the child frowned, not upset, but empathetic of Connor’s pain. “I’m learning to play the lute. Dad already has someone making you the best Harp—”

Hank groaned. “That was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oops,” Cole grimaced. “But we could play together, right?” 

Hank was having him a harp made. Connor fell a little more in love. “Yes, Cole, we could even write songs together.”

“Whole songs! Neat! Let’s write one about Sumo! And-and adventures!” 

“I look forward to it,” Connor replied. 

“Cole, can you give us a minute?”

“Okay, Tina has a sword, she’s pretty like North.” His eyes widened a little. “Also scary like North.” 

Hank sighed. “Hallway, please.”

“I’m going!” Cole opened the door, and whatever came after, ‘hey, Tina’ was lost when the heavy door shut. 

Hank cleared his throat. “So, that’s my son, Cole.”

“He’s wonderful.” 

Hank smiled. “Yeah, I’m pretty fond of him. I know he’s not really getting the chance to know you before we get married, but I at least wanted him to meet you. Thank you for that.” 

“I’m glad I got to meet him. And see you.” 

“Were you nervous?” 

“Terrified.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Hank cupped his face in his large hands. “You’ll want for nothing.” 

“It’ll just be a big change, but a good change. I feel safer at your side. Being alone gives me too much time to fret.” 

“What are you worried about?”

“That you’ll come to your senses and run for the hills.” Connor frowned. “Or marry my brother, that would be very awkward.”

“Neither of those are things you need to be concerned about. I’m exactly where, and with whom I wish to be.” 

A couple loud bangs on the door before Cole poked his head in with his hand over his eyes. “You two better not be kissing!”

“We’re not,” Hank said, backing up a step. 

“Come on, Dad! It’s time!” 

“I’ll be waiting for you, Connor.” 

Connor held the words in his heart, watching the King and Prince Cole leave. 

∙∙∙

Distinguished guests danced, and twirled around in the great hall. There was plenty of merriment to be had. It wasn’t often there was such a notable wedding, and for two to happen in one day—surely the festivities would go on for days. 

Richard knew all the right steps, and Gavin had no problem keeping time with the quick beat. Their left hands touched, and Richard was all the more aware of their new wedding bands. They stepped, and twirled, and switched partners, but everyone ended up back with the person they’d started the dance with by the end of the song, and that put Richard happily back in Gavin’s arms. 

The applause nothing but a hum, and all Richard could think of was kissing Gavin. He could. They were married now. Yet, he refrained, Gavin was still thrumming with restless energy, usually when he was in a group of so many people it was an army marching to battle. 

He slipped in close to Gavin, to let himself be heard over the noise of another song starting. “Join me on the balcony.”

They made it halfway there before being stopped by Connor, with Hank. They hadn’t had a chance to speak since before they were wed, the dinner after had them at different tables, Connor with Hank and the delegates of Kent, while Richard sat with their mother, and Livonian nobility. 

Connor looked not only happy, but settled, finally. Richard was happy for him, his brother looked so pleased with himself, pressed against King Henry’s side. 

“Congratulations,” Connor said to them, stepping from his new husband to hug Richard, and then Gavin too. “I saw Simon earlier, he looks well.” 

Richard grinned. “As he should. He’s the palace’s new official apothecary.”

Connor’s attention shifted, and a new smile bloomed upon his face. Prince Cole came running over. “There are little cakes!” he announced with a bit of icing sugar upon his nose, and a smudge of chocolate on his lip. 

King Henry sighed. “Well, he’ll crash in a couple hours.” 

Richard slipped his hand into Gavin’s, and excused themselves. He looked back when they reached the balcony, Connor looked right at home with his new family. 

Gavin pulled him out onto the balcony, the doors muffling the sound, the air cooler, and they walked to the railing, both leaning their forearms against it, looking out over the bailey where Gavin had taught Richard to fight for years, swords clashing, footwork, hand-to-hand which led their bodies to be pressed up against one another. 

“Nice night,” Gavin noted. 

“Never one better,” Richard said, reaching just a little to brush his fingers against Gavin’s. “Think we can sneak away yet?” 

“We’ll likely be stopped for a chat at least twenty times before we make it to the hall.” 

Richard looked to the trellis on the wall. “We could scale down.”

Gavin groaned. “That’s dangerous.” 

“When has that ever stopped us?”

“Fine, but I’m going first, make sure it’s sturdy enough.”

Gavin started down the trellis, and Richard watched him pause as he reached the blooms of the roses, and jumped down and away from the flowers, landing gracefully. “Your turn.” 

As someone who’d been skirting palace rules since the age of five, he had no problem climbing down the trellis, and jumping away from his mother’s beloved roses. Gavin steadied him when he stumbled a bit on the landing. 

They walked the bailey, a few of the servants still around, but paid them no mind. The mix of cobblestone, and earth there was familiar, hard packed from dozens of soldiers training daily. They’d grown up here, taught and learned, ebbed and flowed. 

They’d grown so much in such a short amount of time. The last time they’d stood in this spot together, Richard had been admitting that he’d be married off to the King of Kent. Now, they stood there, open in their love, and hours into their marriage. 

He grabbed Gavin’s jacket, pulling him in, kissing him hard on the mouth. Gavin wasted no time crowding him up against the castle walls, the scent of roses surrounding them. 

“Think we can sneak into our room?” Gavin asked. 

“Well, you _do_ know the guard rotation,” Richard replied with a smirk. 

“Come on,” Gavin tugged him along, the two of them laughing with delight, and surely caught half a dozen times along the way with the way they could barely keep their hands and lips from the other, but the guards just smirked and averted their eyes. 

∙∙∙ 

Connor had never felt so much joy in all the days of his life put together as he did in just this one. Cole was curled up at his side, having literally talked himself to sleep. Markus came over, and gently picked the boy up. “I’ll get him settled,” he said to Connor. “Enjoy your wedding, My Lord.” 

It was odd to see Cole go, he’d instantly taken to the boy. Now that he was gone, he did spot North nearby, in conversation with Tina, but her eyes alternated between keeping an eye on Connor, and keeping one on her king. For the first time, Connor saw her laugh, and for just a second her full attention shifted to Tina as she said something back, Tina appeared delighted. 

He was able to use North’s attention to locate Hank, and managed to avoid being pulled upon the dance floor. Hank paused in speaking when he noticed Connor, and pulled him in. “Connor, this is one of my advisors, and Cole’s tutor, Rose.” 

“A pleasure to meet you.” 

He was introduced to dozens other members of council, or minor nobility either by Hank or Amanda, and he didn’t think it possible to keep all their names, and holdings straight in his mind. He’d have to ask Rose to give him a crash course later, and probably the same royal training the young prince received. 

“Hank, this is all a lot can we…” he trailed off, embarrassed he’d even begun to ask. 

“Take a minute?” Hank’s hand on his back kept him grounded. “Let’s see those gardens.” 

There were a few people out in the gardens, but far fewer than inside. The cool night air allowed the tightness to finally release in his chest. The door was still open, trying to get air into those dancing, but it allowed the music into the gardens. 

“You know,” Hank said, “we still haven’t danced.” 

Connor leaned in closer. “I’m afraid I don’t know how.” 

Hank took Connor’s hand. “Just follow my lead.” 

It was nothing like the fast pace, complicated steps of some of the dances he’d seen inside the grand hall, Connor found himself focussed on trying not to step on Hank’s toes. “You’re doing great,” Hank said. “You’re a fast learner.” 

He didn’t care to mention he’d had to learn things quickly or suffer consequences. He took a wrong step on purpose, and nothing bad happened, Hank just gently guided him as if the wrong step had never happened in the first place. 

The song inside came to a close, and was met with applause. 

“I can’t believe we will be leaving for Kent in the morning,” Connor said. 

“I think you’ll like it there.” 

“I’m excited to see the waterfalls,” Connor admitted, leading Hank over to the bench among the flowers that they’d sat on before. 

“I’ll make it a priority to take you there. Cole loves them too.”

Connor rested his head on Hank’s shoulder, listening to the music build once again. “The party is delightful, don’t get me wrong, but this is better.” 

Hank kissed the top of his head. “I’m afraid there will be more festivities upon our return to Kent.” 

“Well, I suppose they would want to celebrate their King being wed.” 

“And celebrate the man who will rule at my side.”  
  
Connor let out a long breath, and a nervous laugh. “No pressure.” 

“You’ll do fine,” Hank said, gently squeezing Connor’s knee. “We will be fine.” 

Connor leaned in slow, kissed Hank with soft, slow brushes of lips. “I think we’ll be better than fine.” 

∙∙∙

King Connor settled into Kent. The castle had taken some getting used to, but Hank had proved to be a great guide, and all of the servants and guards were happy to help point him in the right direction. 

He spent plenty of time in the music room, reacquainting himself with music, and delighting in the ornate harp that Hank had commissioned as a wedding gift. 

As promised, he and Cole wrote fun little songs that the boy could easily remember; notably a rather silly one about four baby ducks inspired by the fluffy birds they’d seen swimming in the pools by the waterfalls on their first outing as a family. 

A messenger came once every few weeks, delivering letters from Livonia: from Richard, and Amanda, occasionally even ones from Gavin, or Tina. It made him miss them, and yet, he didn’t feel homesick, how could he?

He was home.

**Author's Note:**

> *the country names are lakes in Detroit--Thanks Google. XD
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/DaydreamsGolden) and as per usual, I'm hanging out over at on [ Detroit: New ERA ](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm) there’s lots of fics, and fanart, and fun, so come join us <3


End file.
